In other words, Madonna’s just a poor little rich girl, and the rest of us only pick on her because we’re jealous. There may be something to that. But it doesn’t make her first book for children (“even grown-up ones,” she suggests on the jacket — ever the crossover artist) any less meretricious, cynical or unimaginative. Don’t hate her because she’s beautiful, the story transparently pleads. OK, we won’t. But so long as she can’t write her way out of a paper slipcase, we sure can’t respect her very much. —David Kipen reviews Madonna’s The English Roses —Madonna’s kids’ book lands with a thud: Million copies of overblown, empty story (SF Gate)
Kipen puts Madonna on the analyst’s couch by dissecting this transparently autobiographical whinefest. Not gonna file this one under “Literature.” Nope.